


Fearless

by jensennjared



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Doctor!Cas, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, bullrider!dean - Freeform, bullriding, medical semantics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jensennjared/pseuds/jensennjared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has been a professional Bull Rider for the majority of his adult life, constantly striving after the best title in the business: PBR World Champion. His personal doctor, Castiel Novak, has been following him around for years, and, whilst treating Dean's various ailments, Castiel has fallen in love with him. On the eve of the most important day of Dean's career, Castiel begins to realise this fact and tries to work out a way to actually do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearless

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by the wonderful @sparksflycastiel & @galaxystiel

“Eight seconds, Cas. That’s all I need. You gotta give me eight seconds.” Dean pleaded, his back straight and stiff against the padded table. 

“You’re being reckless.” Castiel shrugged, his thumbs palpating Dean’s knee. “You’ve got a torn ACL, a strapped up shoulder, and a broken nose.”

“I can’t miss this ride. It’s my last chance before the Championship and I’m down on points.” Wincing at the pressure Castiel was exerting on his ligament, Dean clenched his teeth. “This could make or break my career.”

“This could kill you, Dean. I don’t understand your blatant disregard for your well-being. At some point, you have to acknowledge that your body simply can’t handle the abuse.”

“I am this close to winning the title, Cas, I can feel it.” 

“What you can feel is your knee cap sliding in and out of its socket.” Castiel sighed. Despite his best efforts to talk Dean out of it, he knew that Dean would ride tonight. Dean found it incredibly difficult to admit defeat, or weakness, or emotion. 

“Just lay your healing hands on me so I can get up on that bull tonight.” 

“I feel compelled to remind you that I can’t work miracles, Dean.” Castiel picked a fresh bandage out of his holdall and began to wind it around Dean’s left knee. “At least promise me that you will pick a small, sickly looking animal.”

“Sure thing.” 

Of course, Castiel knew Dean wouldn’t follow through on his promise – he never did. Dean chased the high and there was nothing better than conquering a two thousand pound beast, competing in the most dangerous sport on Earth. It was getting harder and harder for Castiel to remain detached. He’d been working as Dean’s doctor for two years now, following him all over the country and standing by as Dean risked his life in rodeo arenas bull riding. He’d been vying for the motherload of titles, PBR World Champion, since the very beginning of his career. It carried prestige, sponsorship deals, and a cool million dollars – cash that Dean could really use. 

Dean had a great first championship, crowned Rookie of the Year, and lost out to the world title by a few points. Since then, he’d been plagued by injury. Castiel had to watch as Dean limped out of the ring with a split lip or a bruised wrist every other tournament, seemingly unconcerned about the damage done to his body. Dean always held his head high, painting a brave face that made Castiel wince in response. Castiel’s concern for Dean’s blatant disregard for his own well-being extended past a professional duty of care. The flustered swarm of butterflies in his stomach and the panicked racing of his pulse had little to do with his job, and everything to do with the fact that Castiel considered Dean as more than a client. He wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened – this attraction between them. The sport did lend itself to reckless romanticism; Dean was risking life and limb regularly, and all Castiel could really think was, you are jeopardising the possibility of me dating you. After two years on the road together, it was time to acknowledge the glaringly obvious: Castiel was in love with Dean. Now, he just had to find the courage to actually do something about it. 

That night, Castiel was once again relegated to the side lines, staring through the gates as the opening ceremony in Tucson, North Carolina, kicked off. The noise was thunderous; an arena filled to the brim with over twenty thousand fans, screaming and stamping their feet in anticipation. The place went dark before a blaze of pyrotechnics sliced through the sand. It was like indoor fireworks, no expense spared, and Castiel joined in with the enamoured gasps of the crowd. Then, from out of the tunnel, the competitors emerged. Each was announced in a roar of glory, a drum beat following their footsteps. The crowd had their favourites – the reigning champion, Benny Lafitte, and the wiry veteran, Azazel Gold, but their underdog was always going to be Dean Winchester: their bloodied and belligerent bull rider. 

Castiel wolf whistled as Dean stepped out across the flames, leather boots kicking the embers across the sand, claps swaying loosely around his thighs as he lifted his cowboy hat off his head like a good Southern boy to greet the crowd. His gruff Texan drawl had been the first thing Castiel had fallen for, the way he often emoted himself with as few words as possible. This, all of this, however, was the thing that Castiel liked least. And yet, he wouldn’t have ever met the man if it hadn’t been for bull riding. The irony didn’t escape him. 

The tournament got off to an entertaining start with Lafitte returning a respectable score of 81.75; he’d plumped for an easy bull to gain some rhythm out of the gate. He was a charmer, a ladies’ man, with a reportedly foul temper, but Dean admired his skill. Whenever he watched replays of the rides, Dean would walk Castiel through Lafitte’s techniques, the way the rider echoed and anticipated the movement of the bull, and Castiel would nod along as if any of it made sense to him. Next to ride was this year’s rookie, Kevin Tran, a well-built short guy with tightly wound muscles from a lifetime’s martial arts training, was bucked off his bull after a mere four seconds. Watching the nineteen year old spin from the bull’s back and land in a heap in the sand sent chills through Castiel. The medical team were poised at the edge of the ring, ready to intervene, but after a quick breather, he was on his feet. 

Dean was next on the schedule and Castiel turned to see him rounding the corner, heading for the bucking chute. He never seemed nervous. His ability to remain cool and composed no matter the obstacle was almost unnerving. 

“Heya Cas. Ready for a show?” Dean said, straining to be heard above the noise. He was wearing his riding vest, and Castiel sighed in relief, before noticing that his helmet was nowhere in sight. 

“Where’s your helmet? Want me to go get it?” 

“I’m not wearing it. Damn thing throws me off balance.” He shook his head before pulling his cowboy hat further down his forehead. 

“Dean, I strongly recommend against that decision. Another concussion could kill you.”

“A scared rider is a bad one and I ain’t afraid. Quit worrying, would you?” Dean rolled his eyes at Castiel, making to move past him.

“Dean, please.” Castiel grabbed for his hand, forcing Dean to turn and look at him. His steely expression softened when he saw the genuine fear in Castiel’s eyes – those blue, blue eyes. 

“Cas, I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, well, I know you’ll patch me up.” Dean winked, squeezing Castiel’s hand in the hopes of reassuring him. “I’ll see you after, okay?”

Castiel nodded and watched him climb the fence and into the bucking chute. 

“Next up, we have country born and bred Texan, Dean Winchester,” the host’s booming voice bounced around the arena, and the crowd responded with cheers and hollers. “Dean’s been suffering from injury after injury this season, but he sure is tough. He’s jumping straight in at the deep end with our resident PBR heavyweight, Go-li-ath.” The host enunciated the syllables of the bull’s name, and fear shuddered through Castiel’s body. 

Goliath was a spry bull despite his hulking frame; he favoured belly rolls, jumping several feet in the air and coming back down with a shuddering thud. He twisted and turned, consistently favouring the left, and was a hard animal to break. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time a rider had lasted the qualifying eight seconds on Goliath’s back. And with all Dean’s injuries mounting up in the bull’s favour, Castiel could see the round being over before it had begun. 

A few seconds later, Dean was mounted on Goliath; the beast was grunting and bucking in the chute as the bullfighters tried to steady Dean. Every muscle in Castiel’s body was tensed, fighting the urge to look away, as if the aversion of his own eyes might prevent Dean from grievous bodily harm. 

“It seems like Goliath is poised for a fight tonight. Here’s hoping Winchester can hold on long enough to qualify.” The host yelled obnoxiously into his microphone; he cared little for the outcome of the ride as long as it was entertaining. “Now, we’re just waiting on the nod from Winchester before the chute is opened.” 

The arena held its breath; their gaze trained on the tall, lithe man in the bucking chute as he sent prayers up to whoever was listening. Please let me win this, please let me not die, please let me date Cas.

With a tip of Dean’s hat, the bullfighters pulled the gate open and Goliath tore into the arena, his heavy hooves kicking the sand up in clouds. The bull’s stout, sinewy legs propelled him into the air and Dean countered the force, keeping his thighs tight around Goliath’s belly. Time slowed as Dean held on for dear life. He held his free arm fairly static at 90 degrees, bending his body in parallel with the bull, almost as if he were dancing. 

But then, he was flying. He barely even noticed his torso fall forward and his forehead hit Goliath’s; he barely even noticed the force with which Goliath’s back left hoof landed on his femur. 

It happened so terrifyingly fast that Castiel didn’t have time to process logical thought. All he saw was the twisted expression on Dean’s face as he writhed in pain. Throwing himself at the gate, Castiel scrambled over the bars and jumped down onto the sand. In the blur, people called out to him, yelling at his stupidity, his delirious madness. But the bullfighters had already distracted Goliath, drawing him away from Dean’s unconscious body and towards the exit. 

Castiel ran across the ring, dropped to his knees and skidded across the sand until he was by Dean’s side. Dean’s face was still, unconscious, lifeless. Absolute blind panic gripped hold of Castiel’s heart; hot, wet tears rolled down his cheeks, completely unashamed in his state of grief. Other medical professionals gathered around them, carrying a stretcher, a defibrillator, a neck brace. 

“Dean,” he choked, his right hand cupping Dean’s face. “Dean, it’s me. I’m here. You need to open your eyes now.” He wanted to grip hold of Dean’s vest and shake him violently, but the possibility of neck and spine trauma was real. “I’m not above saying, I told you so.”ac

Everything was still. The universe waited on Dean to open his eyes. 

Castiel’s fingers dropped to Dean’s pulse. It was there – strong and lying close to the skin. He thought about slapping Dean sharply across the face; he thought about punching him too, right on his already broken nose. 

Then, his long lashes flickered against his cheek, and his eyelids opened to reveal those forest green irises. His gaze swept the room, blinking slightly from the bright overhead lights, before settling on Castiel’s face. Dean recognised the worry written into his doctor’s features, realising that he was on the floor yet again, a few seconds short of a successful ride, and then, he noticed Castiel’s tear stained cheeks and the heavy sigh of relief that escaped his lips. Something had changed. 

“Thank God.” Castiel gasped. In one fell swoop he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Dean’s. The kiss was conciliatory. A thanks for not dying kiss. But then, as Dean’s hand snaked up Castiel’s shoulder, settling at the nape of his neck and pulling him closer, the kiss changed. Now it was a revelation. A thank God I had the guts to do this, if only it hadn’t taken your nearly dying kiss. 

A few blissful seconds later, they pulled apart.

“I’m not sure that’s the kind of healing I need, Doc.” Dean coughed awkwardly as he took in the surrounding crowd, his cheeks turning a coquettish pink. 

“I think the help you need is above my pay grade.” Castiel raised an eyebrow, a smile spreading his lips wide. 

“Hmm, might be.” Dean laughed. “Hope that doesn’t mean you’re givin’ up on me.” 

“That is unlikely.” Castiel gave Dean a reassuring smile. “However, I’d prefer if you would find a career that didn’t require risking your life on a daily basis. My stomach would certainly thank you.”

“Yeah, about that,” Dean grimaced as he was rolled onto a stretcher and lifted into the air. He would soon be en route to the hospital for a much needed x-ray. “Maybe when I’ve had a little R&R, I could take you out sometime.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Well, you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count, so I guess I owe you one.” Dean gripped Castiel’s hand tighter; whether it was due to pain or affection, Castiel wasn’t so sure. Maybe a bit of both. “You comin’ with?” 

“I’ve followed you around for two years. Might as well continue the trend.” Castiel climbed into the back of the ambulance and occupied the seat by Dean’s side. 

“Good. That’s good.” Dean mumbled. The pain medication he’d been injected with was slowly starting to take effect. “M’gonna retire, buy a ranch. Teach kids how to ride horses.” Dean closed his eyes, succumbing to the morphine in his system. “Can you ride, Cas?”

“You can teach me, Cowboy.” Castiel smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to Dean’s forehead.

“Awesome.”


End file.
